


Difference

by fanficcornerwriter19



Category: Noli Me Tangere & Related Works - José Rizal
Genre: A Vague Idea Of Plot, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Ficlet, Fluff and Angst, It's Mutual But Elias Can't See That Because He's an Oblivious Dumbass, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Some angst, also, as a treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 10:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24349267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanficcornerwriter19/pseuds/fanficcornerwriter19
Summary: It's different, this time round.(In which Elias makes the unquestionably unwise decision of going back to his ex.)
Relationships: Elias/Crisostomo Ibarra
Kudos: 6





	Difference

**Author's Note:**

> now I should probably warn for sex mention, although it's very much implied, because I'm not sure how obvious it is what I was going for. also warning (lol) for Literally No Tagalog Dialogue at all, because I am a conyo and I'm sorry. 
> 
> I dunno how this happened, okay? I was lying in bed, listening to Maroon 5, and then this wouldn't let go of me, so of course I had to inflict it on all of you. since it's based on _Little Of Your Time_ , it would've been sadder if the writer had been less wimpy, but oh well, you got me, so.

It was a bad idea last time and this is the first glimmer of hope he has that it’s any less of one now. He hangs on to the sheets, to Ibarra’s hips, as if he can grasp that glimmer and gasp it to life. Maybe Ibarra can feel it, because his mouth curves into a smile where it's sucking the moan from Elias’s. Is it derision or delight? Elias doesn’t know the difference, when it comes to Ibarra; either one drives him wild. 

It’s different, though, this time round. His anger has abated and Ibarra’s has flamed. His gentleness has softened and Ibarra’s has scarred. It’s different. They are no longer children and they no longer think they have fate on their side. It’s different, and he is still trying to feel out how. 

He was drawn to Ibarra the first time because their hearts burned within them and set the world afire in their wake. 

He can remember exactly what he excused himself with. _My time is running out. I might as well enjoy myself in what little is left._ It makes him laugh and cringe in equal measure, because what about that doesn’t scream _denial_? 

He was sensible enough, at least, to realize that that excuse wouldn’t cut it when he chose to stay. Even if neither he nor Ibarra know what it is that made them think they could join hands over the chasm between them. Even if he knows, now, why he let himself get talked into this again. 

It’s different, this time round. Ibarra drags him down to Manila, and the luminous signs of the night city remind him of the lanterns strung in the trees at Christmas. He finds out Ibarra owns a guitar and goes straight to tuning it and ignores his one hope glimmering in Ibarra's exasperated groan.

He already knows the shape of Ibarra’s hands and lips and shoulders, but he learns them again by sunlight, by starlight, by fluorescent bulb. He learns them in laughter and in annoyance and in weariness. Though he always thought Ibarra knew every devastating effect of his every move, it seems Ibarra has no idea what he does to Elias when he screws up his face like that. 

(That’s the face he makes when he’s trying not to admit he finds something funny.) 

Maybe their mistake last time was that they never bothered to be friends first. He doesn’t think they ever really talked long enough to name whatever it was between them, but it hadn’t been friendship. 

Whatever this is, friendship is somewhere in there. 

Elias knows, with painful certainty, that that’s not what’s different. Even as he maps out the things that have changed—Ibarra has scars and hair and slack where he didn’t have them before, Ibarra gives kindness and space and thought where he didn’t give them before—he has a terrible hunch that he knows what he will see when he pulls back and looks. 

He will see Ibarra smile, and he’ll be done for. 

_We’re too old for this,_ he quips, half-serious. There it is, Ibarra smiles, and in his eyes Elias can see himself breaking apart. _Well, we’re almost done,_ he says, and kisses Elias fiercely. Sure enough, two minutes later, he’s staring at the ceiling instead of Ibarra’s face and feeling Ibarra’s breath slow into slumber on his neck. Once again the words ebb to the surface, but now is not the time for them and he swallows them like before. 

It’s not quite as easy as it used to be. 

_Be honest with yourself,_ Salome says to him. _You’re going to waste your life overthinking this_. 

He pulls up to the figure standing rather forlornly under his umbrella and says, _Get in_. He leads Ibarra to the bookstore and says, _What do you want?_ He puts a new toothbrush in the holder over the sink with a note stuck to it that says, _This is yours._ There isn’t _room_ for him to not be honest with himself. Does she really think it’s himself he’s not being honest with? 

They never were honest with each other, the first time round. If they ever said something true it wasn’t because they tried to. He clings to that, thinks that maybe things haven’t changed all that much. Maybe this is still a bad idea. Maybe he can still rescue himself from this before he turns into another heap of roadkill. 

Of course it’s not that easy. Nothing ever is. 

Ibarra tosses his jacket at him and says, _Come on_. Ibarra hands him a cup of coffee and says, _Did I get it right?_ Ibarra leaves a package of tablea by his shoes with a note that says, _I thought of you_. 

He knows. He must know. 

Elias scrounges for courage as the words rise to his lips again—and then he sees Ibarra’s face and his courage crumbles like clumps of baking powder. All they’re doing is walking, so he has no idea what happened, only a sense of frustration and fear. 

It’s different from last time. There is nowhere they really want to go, there is nothing they burn to do. This time they aren’t quite so young and fiery and they’re content to have space between them. He thinks the words would fit in that space perfectly, if Ibarra let them. The question is, would he let them? 

When Ibarra kisses him and smiles, Elias can feel the shape of delight in the hitch of breath that might’ve otherwise become a laugh, and wonders why he ever thought derision was like this. 

(Of course, Ibarra’s derision still drives him wild, but he knows the difference now.) 

He stays by Ibarra because their paths have merged again and the world is happy to let them be. 

He has an excuse prepared ( _Better the monster you know_ ) but he has the feeling he won’t need it. Ibarra doesn’t ask him for it, anyway, and who else would he need to excuse himself to? This is his and Ibarra’s and no one else’s and if this ends again, well, that’s between them, isn’t it? 

It’s different, this time round. He wakes up alone less often than he wakes up with Ibarra sprawled over him, hogging the blanket when it’s cold and the fan when it’s not. Somewhere along the way, he wakes up and it’s raining and he tumbles out of bed to shut the window. When he turns, Ibarra is curled in the warm hollow his body left, sleeping like the dead. 

The words come to mind, but so does the realization that they’re not necessary. 

He doesn’t need to say the words. He’s been saying them for—well, by now it might as well be forever. It’s early, yes, but he rakes the comb through his hair, tucks the blanket around Ibarra, and goes to look for breakfast. 

The words settle somewhere and their weight in his heart halves. It’s not gone—the words will always be hefty things—but it’s what it should be. When Ibarra pokes out his head, bleary-eyed and demanding, he understands that Ibarra has been saying them back for what might as well be forever. 

He turns back to the food and leaves _I trust you_ in his calm when he doesn’t turn around at the clatter of plates shifting. He walks Ibarra to where the students are waiting and presses _I want you_ into the hand he squeezes. He slings an arm around Ibarra as he presents him with a water bottle and traces _I love you_ on the shirt over Ibarra’s heart. 

It’s different this time round, and by God, is he glad of that.

**Author's Note:**

> why didn't I post this in _minute_ , you ask? because this is objectively a terrible ficlet and also because it didn't feel like it had the same vibe to me. I literally scribbled this in one morning while listening to _Little Of Your Time_ on loop, it's terrible and it models terrible decisions. this should've been the story of that first time round, but, well. I'm a wimp, what can I say? 
> 
> kids, as a rule of thumb, don't go back to your exes. Elias and Ibarra are idiots and should not be imitated.


End file.
